Ulterior Emotions
by Katrina Kay
Summary: Five years after the infamous fire, the Phantom comes out of hiding when a young art student named Amelie accidentally intrudes on his world.
1. Chapter the First

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Erik or anything/anyone related to or mentioned in The Phantom of the Opera, whether the musical, book, or play…obviously.

_Author's Note:_ The events in this story take place five years after the burning of the opera house. The reader must disregard any events in the movie or book that take place after this time or conflict with the story's events in order to fully understand, make sense of, and appreciate this story.

_Chapter the First_

IN WHICH The Operahouse Receives Visitors

PARIS, FRANCE

For five years the operahouse had stood undisturbed, the tragic events which had taken place there forgotten or at lease unmentioned except by those closest affected. No living creature stirred within its walls, save that of an occasional pigeon or rat that happened to seek a home inside its vacant rooms.

The Phantom's fire had take its toll on the operahouse. Sections of the walls were charred or obliviated. A fine layer of dust and ash coated almost every surface. In the midst of the destruction lay the infamous chandelier, a reminder of what had passes on that fateful night five years ago.

No attempt to rebuild the magnificent structure had been made, nor any attempt to sell the building. Though most believed the Phantom had either been killed in his own fire or fled, a general feeling of uncertainty and caution was upheld. No one dared enter the operahouse for fear of the Phantom's horrific rage and grief. Monsters such as he, they believed, were best left alone and undisturbed.

Caution was well taken, for the Phantom still lived, lurking in the dark shadows of his once magnificent domain. After the small party of investigators had finished searching for him and found nothing, he had crept out of his hiding place and tried to form some semblance of the life that he had had before Christine had so carelessly broken his already scarred heart. The Phantom found that while he could not bear to live without Christine, at the same time some twisted part of him was glad she was gone. It was as if the memory of Christine still poisoned his soul, every bit as much as she had before she had fled with Raoul. The Phantom longed to find the part of his heart that Christine still possessed and rip it out of his chest, rip out all remembrance of the beautiful girl with the equally beautiful voice so that he would never again cry himself to sleep over what he had lost.

**- - - **

"Amelie, are you sure we should be doing this? There are plenty of other historic buildings we could go to that we wouldn't have to break into!"

"Oh do be quiet Jenny, and help me get this board moved. If we get this one off, we're in."

The two struggled to pull the board off the doors. Amelie looked around to check for policemen. They were at a side entrance but it was still possible that someone from the main street could see them.

With a grunt, Amelie finally pried the not-yet-rotten board off the door and the two young women snuck inside. The dust coating almost every surface was not thick yet was enough to rouse a few sneezes from the pair. The dust was not enough to diminish the operahouse, however. Gold and velvet covered almost every surface. Amelie and Jenny had never visited the operahouse during its glory days but now they understood why so many Parisians had bought tickets to every show. Just to stand staring at the opulence of the place was worth the price of a ticket.

"Oh Jenny, it's beautiful…"

The pair continued out of the side room and into the main room. Everywhere was something gorgeous to gaze at, wonderful artwork covering the walls. Then a sight made the girls stop suddenly and gasp. On the floor, crushing several rows of seats, lay the chandelier. Jenny walked up to the massive light fixture and ran her hand along the side, sending dust into the air. Amelie came to stand next to her. When she spoke, it was in a voice full of reverence and curiosity.

"This is it, the chandelier from the stories. Do you think the Phantom is really dead, as all the tales say?"

Jenny snorted, though Amelie could not tell if the action was due to disdain, amusement, or dust.

"Most likely, Amelie. After all, rumors have to start somewhere, correct? I heard that the patrol that was sent in after the fire found his quarters but that he was nowhere to be found. All his things were there untouched but he was gone."

Amelie started walking down a row of seats, brushing her fingers against the back of the seats to send dust swirling into the air.

"But he wouldn't stay here, would he? _Why_ would he?"

Jenny followed her for a distance but then turned and lazily waked back to the chandelier. She pulled a drawing pad and pencil out of her satchel.

"You go ahead and explore a bit, Amelie. I'm going to stay here and draw this monstrosity, all right? Just don't forget to do five sketches before we go or Madame Le Tour will take points off at class tomorrow."

"Okay, Jen. I'll see you at, say, seven o'clock?"

Jenny turned from her sketching.

"Seven o'clock? I didn't plan on staying that late, I've got things to do. Won't you be missed?"

Just before Amelie disappeared behind the curtain, she called back, "And who would miss me, Jen? Mama and Papa moved to Nice last year, remember? I haven't heard from them in months. No, I'm not going to be missed.

**- - -**

Amelie continued down the hallway. She could just imagine actors and actresses bustling here and there, eager to start rehearsal or a show. Stage hands carried costumes or props, setting up scenery. Lights sparkled to life in their holders, shining on the faces that followed bodies to their destinations. The show began and the music echoed off the walls in salute to emotion and passion.

Breaking out of her reverie, Amelie realized that she had no idea where she was. In front of her lay two staircases and four doors. She peeked inside the doors but didn't notice anything out of the ordinary except a large floor-length mirror in the nicest room.

Making up her mind, she ascended the staircase that led up to the rafters of the stage. The view was dizzying but exhilarating. From here Amelie could see down onto the stage and all the seats of the operahouse. She moved farther, holding onto the ropes that were all that was keeping the boards she was standing on from falling to the ground.

"Woo, what a rush! Hallo, Jenny!" She shouted to the figure sitting below her next to the chandelier.

Jenny jumped, surprised out of her concentration.

"Amelie! That's not funny, you know! And just what do you think you're doing, running around up there? You could fall and break your neck, you cretin!"

Amelie threw her head back and laughed. The sound bounced off the walls and echoed throughout the huge room. It reverberated down the halls, down every passage, down even to the room where the Phantom lay thinking about his perpetual obsession. It was a sound that startled him as he had thought the building still deserted, a sound that reminded him of everything he had lost, taunting him with his failures. The laughter filled him with rage at whoever enjoyed life while he sat in the shadows despising his. The fact that the laughter was musically female and reminiscent of _hers_, his lost love's, did not escape him. He turned over, deciding to let the purposefully sawed ropes do their job, but then picked up his cape from where it lay gathering dust on the floor. Another's misfortune could not dampen his spirits any more and perhaps he would enjoy this young woman's bad luck. Maybe she even looked like Christine…and he could watch her plummet to her death. Almost as good as watching _her_ suffer…

He stepped out of the room he had spent most of the last five years in and took a look around. There was his piano, dusty from neglect, long-cold candles sitting amongst tattered, shredded sheets of his music. His bed and its velvet sheets lay in the alcove, same as they had for all the years he had inhabited these rooms. The Phantom took in the burned dolls on their ashy stage, smashed mirrors, and dust with no emotion…until he saw Christine.

**- - -**

Because she was laughing, Amelie did not hear the ropes begin to break. Within seconds, the platform jolted and Amelie realized that if she did not act quickly, severe pain would be in her immediate future.

"Jenny! The ropes are breaking, help!"

Jenny looked up from the sketching she had turned back to and paled.

"Oh my God! Hold on, I'll go get help!"

Amelie jumped onto another platform just as the ropes broke.

"No! If anyone finds out we were here we'll be arrested! I'll just…try to get back over to the side."

The ropes on the platform she was now standing on began to creak. Amelie looked to either side. If she stepped left she would be moving farther away, but to get onto the platform on her right, the one that was closer to the built-in platforms connected to the stage, she would have to jump with all her strength. As the ropes began to snap she made her choice – and jumped.

"Amelie!"

**- - -**

The wax figurine had been damaged by the fire. Christine's dress, the dress he had designed and had poured into all the love he possessed, was burned and blackened. Part of the figurine's face was melted. The Phantom reached out and gently stroked the melted half of Christine's face, then brought his hand up to the scarred half of his own face.

Suddenly he felt his rage at Christine come full-force. He picked up the figurine and smashed its head into his already ruined mirror, slamming the figurine with all the energy he had combined with all the anger and loneliness he had felt these five long years of suffering. Again and again he beat out his frustration until he kneeled in pieces of wax, all his energy and hatred retreating as quickly as it had come.

The Phantom stood with a sign. Something had to change. He could not go on living this way, if one could call his way of life living.

A scream pierced his thoughts, loud and shrill. The ropes must have broken. He imagined the girl lying in a pool of her own blood – with Christine's face, staring toward the ceiling – and hurried toward the stage, insane eagerness written on his face.

**- - -**

For a moment, Amelie believed she would make it. Her hands would catch the board before she fell. She would clamber onto the board and back down to where Jenny waited anxiously.

Then she knew: the platform was nowhere near her outstretched hands. As she fell, plummeting towards the stage, she thought she was a face watching her from above. But the face, and everything else, disappeared when her body hit the stage with a sickening thud…and she saw no more.

Jenny had watched her friend's struggle for survival from an agonizing distance but now she rushed to Amelie's side, her heart already knowing what her mind did not. As she reached Amelie's still body, Jenny's mind finally understood.

"Amelie? Oh God, please say something! Don't be – you can't be dead!" Her words broke into sobs as she bent over her friend – failing to notice a faint heartbeat.

The Phantom watched from above, a pleased smile on his distorted face. Though the girl looked nothing like his Christine, a death was a death – all in all, still satisfactory. He chuckled softly, the sound reverberating back to Jenny. The grief-stricken girl was crying too loudly to hear his pleased laugh and sat next to Amelie, absorbed in her mourning and thoughts.

"W-what am I going t-to tell your parents? O-oh G-god!" For many minutes she continued sobbing then finally lapsed into silence.

The Phantom knew, from listening to stories he overheard from cast members and reading the odd stolen newspaper or book, that desperate people often tried to shift blame for various things off themselves, even went as far as to incriminate friends and family members. So it was no surprise to him when Jenny spoke again:

"They'll blame me, I know it! Y-your parents never liked me. I-I've got to think of something. I know! I'll leave the body here, and then take some of her clothes from her apartment…no one will bother to search in this old place…and I'll board up the way in so that no one will suspect…"

Jenny got up and scurried toward the exit, suddenly transformed from loving friend to shameless plotter, whether from grief or perhaps unmasking her inner self, the phantom could not decide. When Jenny had placed the boards over the door back in place and all noise had ceased, indicating her absence, the Phantom turned to go celebrate the death – then he heard a moan, and looked down to see the bloody, beaten corpse turn and try to sit up.

**- - -**

Please review with comments, questions, etc. I'd like to know what to do to make this better – and what my readers think.


	2. Chapter the Second

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Erik or anything/anyone related to or mentioned in The Phantom of the Opera, whether the musical, book, or play…obviously.

_Review Replies:_

ForbiddenSpiritthLyte: Glad you liked it so much, A.J.

elvenscarf: Very.

Nadiil: Jenny gets a lot nastier in this chapter, trust me. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

please keep reviewing, everyone! I need feedback to help me keep my writing on track and interesting.

_Chapter the Second_

IN WHICH Jenny Stages A Crime AND the Phantom and Amelie Are Introduced

After she had made sure that the boards she and her unfortunate friend had come through were utterly secure against outside penetration, Jenny set to work on her plan to explain Amelie's disappearance.

First the young woman paid a visit to Amelie's small apartment to create the crime scene. She strewed a purposefully torn outfit, smeared with blood which had soaked onto her own clothes, around the apartment, leaving a few streaks of crimson near the door to show the point of exit. Jenny then proceeded to jumble the kitchen cupboards, making it look as if the attacker and kidnapper had been looking for valuables.

After she had added finishing touches to the scene and made sure any evidence of her presence was absent or undetectable, Jenny headed home, ready to begin her new career as an actress.

**- - - **

Unsure what to do, which was for him a relatively new dilemma, the Phantom stayed where he was, hidden in the shadows above the girl.

Amelie struggled, trying to force her useless body to obey her brain. She was in more pain than she had ever imagined it was possible to feel – every part of her body was screaming at her just to give in and let go…but she managed to force herself into a sitting position. It was only then that she opened her eyes and looked at herself. What she saw made her let out a hoarse scream of horror and anguish.

The Phantom watched as the girl realized that the mangled, bloody limbs she saw when she opened her eyes were indeed her own. The girl really was a mess – open wounds covered every inch of visible skin, and judging by the blood soaking through her clothes, were also underneath her clothes as well. Not surprising, seeing that she had landed on top of the scenery that had been left on the stage, mostly intact after the fire. The girl's neck and windpipe looked more bruised than her arms and a large, deep-looking gash on the back of her head was oozing a good amount of crimson blood onto the wooden stage. Her leg lay at an angle that no leg should or can bend in without breaking.

Amelie swayed slightly, realizing that she was losing more blood than she afford to lose and still live. When she moved an arm slowly to feel the gash on her head, she let out a whimper. A large piece of wood from a scenery prop was lodged in her arm, on the back of her shoulder. Amelie lowered her arm then with slow, shaky movements attempted to bring her other arm over, to try to pull the wood out. The pain overwhelmed her and she collapsed back onto the stage, moaning slightly as the shard was driven in deeper by her weight.

She was barely conscious but managed to let out a sob. "Jenny…someone! Help me – please God…" Amelie struggled to stay awake…to stay alive…

Throughout this ordeal, the Phantom had stayed in his hiding place on the balcony, savoring the pain this barely animate corpse was going through. The pain that Christine was gong through…no…and yet, as the girl called out for help, the insane bloodlust that had been coursing through his veins began to subside. He struggled with his emotions for many moments, then made his way down to the stage, still wondering why he was bothering.

Amelie's vision began to cloud and she prayed that someone would at least come to be with her before she died. It was as if her prayer was heard: a caped figure in dark clothes approached her. Amelie reached out her hand – and was swallowed by darkness again.

By the time the Phantom reached her, he realized that she was already unconscious. Part of him argued that this tart deserved to die for intruding into his world but the other part…whenever this new side of him had developed, it was antagonizingly more convincing. The Phantom unclasped his cape and, spreading it on the stage, carefully lifted the girl onto it and wrapped its folds around her. He would have to sneak into one of the city hospitals for supplies. With an inward sigh, he lifted her motionless body and made his way back to his underground quarters.

**- - - **

A small jar containing the ashes of Amelie's favorite dress sat on the altar at the church that the young artist had attended. In the pews sat Amelie's parents and her few other relations. Jenny, considered to be Amelie's best friend, was the only person present that was not related to the deceased.

The friend in mention was growing increasingly uncomfortable by the close proximity of her friend's "remains". The police had bought her alibi and even offered their condolences to Jenny. Of course, the body had not been found, so Amelie's parents decided to have their daughter's favorite dress burned at the crematorium instead.

Jenny glanced over to Amelie's parents. The shock of realizing that her only daughter was dead, and that she would now never become a grandmother, had sent Amelie's mother into a wheelchair. Amelie's father sat next to where the wheelchair had been placed in the aisle, hunched over with grief, not bothering to hide the ungentlemanly tears that fell onto his collar. The parents seemed to have aged years over the past week. Guilt scorched Jenny's stomach, but she resolved to keep herself from running to Amelie's parents and confessing. She had worked too hard to turn tail now – and besides, Amelie was dead, why ruin another life because of it?

The priest started reading of the names of those who had signed the guest register. Those mentioned rose and walked to the altar to pray for and say their last farewells to Amelie. Jenny quietly slipped out of the church, resolving to put the whole sordid affair in the past. She would start a new life in the country, far from the city that held the remains of her dark secret.

**- - - **

Amelie struggled to open her eyes. She did not know where she was and the dim light did not help her to identify her surroundings. When she attempted to sit up, Amelie remembered all that had happened: falling off the platform, seeing her own mangled limbs, a figure appearing from the shadows…Her head felt large and swollen. When she delicately reached up with a bandaged hand, her fingers brushed another bandage.

By then, Amelie realized that her eyes had adjusted enough to the light that she could assess her wounds. Her left arm was in a sling, a cast was wrapped around her ribs and another around one of her legs, and bandaging covered the exposed skin on her arms and legs. Adding the head wound and another dressing on her shoulder, she was in pretty sorry shape. Not only was Amelie surprised to be alive – but who had taken care of her, tended to her wounds. Had Jenny been her savior?

She looked around, hoping her surroundings could help answer her questions, but all they did was cause more questions to form. Amelie found that she had been carefully set on a pile of soft blankets in the middle of a huge room that appeared to be underground, from the lack of windows and sunlight. In an alcove nearby lay what appeared to be a bed in the shape of a seashell, filled with blankets and behind a black gauzy curtain. A large piano covered in scraps of paper sat across from the edge of the floor, which gave way to a small lake, closed in by a portcullis. Candles, as well as shattered mirror fragments, lay everywhere.

"What sort of strange place is this?" Amelie let out a small noise of surprise when she heard her own voice. She assumed that she had injured her neck, because her voice sounded as if she had not talked in years, and every breath hurt slightly.

Amelie sighed and winced, letting her eyes fall shut. Everything was too confusing…she hurt too much…A sudden noise made Amelie open her eyes slightly. Someone was down here with her. She froze, waiting to see who emerged.

The Phantom stepped back into his domain from the secret staircase that led to the city sewers, the same staircase he had used before, five years ago. He walked over to a table and set down the bandages he had stolen from the hospital. Running his fingers through his hair, he unclasped his cloak and walked over to hang it on a polished wooden coatrack.

Amelie shifted slightly and the Phantom whipped around. For a moment the two studied each other – one dark-haired, dark-eyed, and muscular, his hair covering the left side of his face; the other with light, mouse-brown hair and gray-blue eyes, lithely built. Then Amelie moved and looked away.

"Thank you for taking care of me, Monsieur…?"

"Most do not call me Monsieur – I am known as…the Opera Ghost."

He hesitated, waiting to see what kind of reaction this statement would draw from the girl.

"The Opera Ghost? Then you are the one they call La Fantôme de l'Opera! I have heard stories about you from my friends. Then you still live here below the operahouse, Monsieur?"

He played with a piece of spare bandaging in his hands nervously.

"Yes, I am La Fantôme. I hope this does not trouble you unduly for I am…a changed man, for the most part. And I have the pleasure of addressing?" He spoke carefully. The girl had not gasped, screamed, or panicked yet, which he took as a good sign, but one could never tell with women. His past proved that.

"I am…Amelie Dubay, and very glad to meet you at the moment, Monsieur, no matter who you may be. Again, I thank you very much – for saving my life."

The Phantom wasn't sure where to look. The girl, Amelie, was starting to unnerve him. It was her eyes – they seemed to study every word he said – made him feel awkward.

"Yes, well…your friend seemed all too eager to leave you lying there."

At the mention of Jenny, Amelie bolted up straight, wincing at the sudden movement. "Where is Jenny? And what exactly do you mean?"

"I meant precisely what I said. Your friend, Jenny is it, thought it within her best interests to flee when she discovered that you had perished in your fall. She was muttering something about blame and leaving the body when she left."

An incredulous look appeared on Amelie's face. "Jenny…left me here? Dead or not, she did not have the decency to – and she was my best friend! I'll simply have to go to her house immediately – that little…"

When he saw Amelie start attempting to stand, he strode over to her and eased her back onto the mattress.

"Mademoiselle…Amelie….whatever you may want to do once you are healed, you are most definitely in no shape to be traveling, especially walking anywhere."

She opened her mouth as if to argue, but then closed it in annoyance and sat back down. "You are right, I'm useless. But if I may ask…why are you doing this, taking care of me? I do not wish to be anything but polite or to intrude, but the stories I have heard of you portray you quite differently."

He turned away from her, suddenly feeling a surge of shame, guilt, and several other emotion she did not want to sort out.

"I am not sure why I am helping you. I am changed but I am not sure if it is for the better or for the worse…"

His voice softened to a whisper and Amelie was not sure whether or not the Phantom was still speaking to her. "But I am different, she changed me, with her angel's voice…"

The Phantom turned back to her. "I do not wish to frighten you, Mademoiselle Amelie. It is becoming quite late, may I suggest that we both retire?"

She took the hint in his voice, that he did not wish to discuss past events. She did not trust him entirely yet, but he had saved her – so she let the conversation drop.

"Then I say goodnight Monsieur, and thank you once again for saving me when my best friend would not.

She turned over to face away from him, letting sleep claim her.

The Phantom walked over and tugged the rope that lifted the black curtain from around his bed. Climbing under the soft sheets, he wondered yet again why he had saved the girl – Amelie. She could never be a replacement for Christine – but did he want her to be? Confused thoughts filled his mind as he sank into a troubled sleep.

**- - - **

Please review with comments, questions, etc. I'd like to know what to do to make this better – and what my readers think.


	3. Chapter the Third

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Erik or anything/anyone related to or mentioned in The Phantom of the Opera, whether the musical, book, or play…obviously.

_Review Replies:_

ForbiddenSpiritthLyte: A.J., what?

Madame Opera Ghost: Yeah, I know his name is Erik, LOL. It's just part of the story that his name isn't used until Amelie finds out what it is. However, rest assured that it will be used eventually in my story.

Sarah B.: I'm glad you like the way I portray Erik! I'm trying to keep him acting like himself while making him the way I want him to act, and it's getting more difficult! Anyway, don't forget to tell Martine or Anna that I've updated if you talk to them, so they can read this chapter too! Hope you like it!!

Anna B.: Here is the "more" you asked for! I'm sorry it took so long, writer's block set in and I kind of abandoned it for a while. But here is the new chapter!

_Chapter the Third_

IN WHICH We Pay A Visit to Christine AND the Phantom and Amelie Spend Time Together

Christine woke with the sun shining through the large windows, streaks of light which covered the bedspread in dappled patterns. She kissed Raoul, who turned over and murmured something in his sleep. Christine smiled and left the room, pulling on a thin dressing-robe to guard against the early morning chill

Tiptoeing into the room across the hall, Christine smiled. Michel slept peacefully in his small bed, his light sandy hair with its dark streaks curling around his face angelically. She had been overcome with joy three years previous when told that she was going to become a mother. Michel had helped her put the past behind her and settle into her new life in the country.

Touching the boy's face softly, she left the room, pulling the door shut behind her. Christine softly walked into the enormous main room of the house. The room clearly showed Raoul's heritage and an excess of wealth. The couches and chairs were covered in expensive cloth and the wood was the finest money could buy. Christine sighed and sat across a couch, pulling her knees to her chest. As the sun rose further, its light was thrown onto the bookcase, the table…and onto the piano, which had been abandoned in the darkest corner of the room. The giver had only the best intentions for the married couple, but Christine had only been reminded of her last days in Paris…

She remembered the utter look of despair on Raoul's face when he had believed that Christine would decide to stay with the Phantom - and the same look on the face of the Phantom…her Erik…when she had placed the ring in his trembling hand, telling him once and for all that she could not - would not - stay with him in the depths below the opera house. Tears began to course down Christine's cheeks as she thought of the kiss. How could she have been so utterly cruel as to show Erik what he would never have? What she now had? Shame and guilt swallowed her.

After a few minutes, Christine sighed and walked over to the window, watching the mist covering the grounds fade as the sun's rays became stronger. Raoul and Michel were worth leaving Erik a thousand times over, yet Christine vowed to make a visit to Paris soon. In all honesty, she did not believe that Erik was still alive but there was a small possibility that he was still living and remained in his quarters below the opera house.

Christine left the room and went to wake Raoul. The visit would take place - and neither Raoul nor Erik would know about it. Picking up the paper to bring to her husband, she glanced at the cover where there was a headline that caught her eye:

YOUNG AMELIE DUBAY KIDNAPPED; FUNERARY SERVICES

HELD IN PARIS; VICTIM OF PHANTOM KIDNAPPER?

- - -

When Amelie woke in what she assumed was the morning, the Phantom was nowhere to be seen. Waiting for the mysterious man to return from whatever destination he had vanished to, she folded her blanket and placed it on the mattress. Wondering whether she would collapse or not, Amelie stood slowly and breathed a sigh of relief. The pain was still almost overwhelming but shakily she shuffled one food forward, then the other. Thank God - and the Phantom - that she wasn't paralyzed. Amelie moved her hands to her ribs which had started to heal. It had been a week, perhaps more, since she had woken to find herself in the Phantom's lair, yet she had scarcely seen him since the day she had met him.

Concentrating again on walking, Amelie made her way over to the piano and sat on the dusty bench sitting beside the large instrument. Touching the keys softly, she picked up a handful of the scraps covering almost the entire top of the piano. On the sections not burned, words and music in a childish, hurried script were written, as if the passion the writer held within could not be passed through the pen fast enough to satisfy. Many of the scraps were speckled with long-dried drops of water, blurring the manuscript. Peering closely at these marks and the peculiar pattern they fell in, Amelie realized that the drops were tear stains. Curiosity welled up inside her. Were the tears from the Phantom?

She was pondering this, trying to remember the gossip she had heard about the Phantom and a soprano named Christine Daae, when a noise made her turn, wincing at her body's complaints. The Phantom had returned.

The look on the man's face was one of unpleasant surprise, whether at her new mobility or finding her at his piano, she could not tell. She guessed the latter. Amelie stood quickly, feeling the need to explain herself to him.

"Monsieur, I am sorry that I touched your papers, but I wanted to walk a bit to see if I still could, and I needed to sit down and-"

"It-it's quite all right. You just startled me, mademoiselle. I am not used to having another person living with me and I had just not expected you to be feeling so well improved."

She curtsied slightly, as much as her injuries would allow and gave him a small smile.

"Thanks to your excellent care, monsieur, I am sure."

He had nothing to say in reply that would not make him seem overly modest, a fault which the Phantom had yet to be guilty of. He removed his cloak and then moved a table over next to the piano bench. The bundle which he had been carrying was revealed to be more medical supplies, including a bottle that looked as if it contained a vile-tasting syrup; and food consisting of two thick, crusty slices of baguette and vegetable soup. After setting the table, the Phantom went to get a chair for himself. Amelie waited until he came back to begin eating; it was the polite thing to do, after all.

The two ate in silence for a few minutes. Amelie noticed that he looked slightly uncomfortable, probably due to the fact that he didn't eat with others much.

After finishing a bite of bread, Amelie decided to break the quiet.

"So how exactly were you able to transport this lovely soup here, monsieur? I know that few street vendors and dining establishments allow customers to keep fine china such as this."

The Phantom seemed dazed for a moment as if she had startled him out of a deep reverie. She was trying so hard to be polite that it was almost amusing. Without thought, he said the first things that came into his mind.

"And if I told you that I made it myself, would you believe me?"

Amelie laughed aloud, pleasantly surprised.

"Not at all, monsieur!"

He spoke with a strange mischievous sparkle in his eye, though his face had not changed its expression significantly. Amelie wondered if he knew how his eyes had lit up; it made him seem younger somehow.

"Then you will not be surprised when I tell you that I stole our supper."

Amelie opened her mouth to admonish him about the crime of stealing, but quickly stopped herself. It appeared as if the Phantom's belongings had all been salvaged from the operahouse's play sets, revealing that the man probably had almost no money whatsoever. To bring up the issue of theft would force him to admit his destitute state.

He saw that she had been about to speak and gave her a questioning look.

"Never mind, my thought was not important."

She stood and hobbled over to the ledge of stone over the lake and sat, dangling her feet above the water.

Did I do something? The Phantom thought. Who knows with these silly women! He was reminded of a time when he had made a comment to Christine as an offhand remark which had resulted in the young woman ignoring him for a week.

He decided to attempt to salvage the conversation and sat beside her.

"Since your accident I have been busy in the city with gathering supplies, among other things. We have not been able to speak to one another much, so is there any matter you would care to ask or talk to me about?"

He could see the curiosity burning in her eyes when she turned to him, as well as open surprise.

"I had thought I should not bring up your past, monsieur, as I had believed that it would be a painful subject for you to discuss. Was I wrong in thinking so?"

"No, you were and still are correct, I do not like to talk or even think about my past but as I know you have heard of certain events from gossip and the papers…"

A look of dislike came over his face, as if he was referring to an unpleasant insect that deserved to be crushed.

"Well, the proper place to begin my questions, I suppose, would be at the beginning. How did you come to live here under the operahouse?"

He paused for a moment as if unsure whether or not he was truly ready to share his story.

"A woman named Madame Giry, you may or may not have heard of her, was the one who hid me here. When I was very young….my mother sold me to gypsies."

She gasped at the cruelty but he continued.

"They kept me…in a cage and- and they…"

Amelie almost moved to place a hand on the Phantom's shoulder in a gesture of comfort but stopped herself just in time. No matter how much sympathy and pity she felt, she barely knew the man. It would be highly improper.

Before she could think and further on the matter, he had cleared his throat, composing himself.

"Madame Giry's dancing troup visited the gypsies and after- and she stole me, taking me back to the operahouse. I have lived here ever since. Until she left, I had never ventured into the city. Now I must do so to survive."

Amelie wondered what he had been about to say. Had something so horrible occurred that he could not bear to even think on it? Pity welled up inside her again.

"I am sorry that you were treated in such a way. People can be unbelievably cruel."

He looked at her with disbelief.

"How would you know? You have parents, I assume, that love their daughter and try to give her the best of everything. You also most likely have many friends who love spending time amusing you. What would you know about cruelty?"

She was taken aback slightly at the Phantom's sudden vindictiveness. Anger bubbled within her for a moment but was gone as suddenly as it had come.

"I am not so innocent and naïve as you believe, monsieur. I have witnessed human suffering before, on the streets of this city. And how can you forget that if not for my _friend_ Jenny, I would most likely be with my friends and parents right now?"

He stared at her in silence, an unreadable expression on his face, then when he spoke it was in an apologetic tone.

"I did forget and I'm sorry. I should not judge you so quickly when I myself have many faults."

She was not sure how to reply to what made the man sound as if he had very rarely had cause to apologize to anyone, so she changed the subject.

"Do you still compose music and write plays? My parents came to the operahouse once to see one of your musicals and told me it was quite excellent."

The expression in his eyes silently thanked her for not dwelling on what he had said.

"I have not written anything since _Don Juan_ and the burning of the operahouse, which you probably heard about from the papers."

Amelie glanced back to the piano and remembered the tear-stained scraps of paper.

"Did you cut down the chandelier?"

"Yes. I have not decided whether or not I regret doing so."

"It is too bad that you stopped composing, though…why _did_ you stop composing and writing?"

He looked away but her curiosity would not allow her to let the question alone.

"I read in one paper that there was a woman involved whom you have forgotten to mention, or maybe you have purposefully not mentioned, named-"

Do not speak her name, the Phantom begged silently. Speak on something, anything else. The sound of the name will tear apart this thin façade that I hide behind…such things are best left in the past…

"-Christine Daae?"

The sudden change the Phantom went through shocked Amelie. A pained expression came to his face that quickly changed to one of dark fury.

"You couldn't just let well enough alone, could you! You had to bring _her_ up when you damn well knew what happened from your precious papers! You women, always prying into things…"

He was shouting by now, his deep voice echoing throughout the room. With a sound of exasperation he stood, mumbling something that sounded vaguely like, "Women!" Amelie also stood, ignoring her screaming body.

"I don't _believe _you! You told me I could ask you questions so I did! It's not my fault I asked the wrong question! I mean, really, you could have just told me not to talk about your…"

She couldn't think of what to call Christine, so her sentence trailed. Two bright spots appeared on her cheeks due to her anger. The Phantom almost took a step back at her tone – he did not deal with angry women well.

"Why the hell do you care so much? It's my business, what happened between myself and Chri-…her."

"You know what? I don't care! Maybe the papers and gossip were right about you, after all. I thought you were a better man than they say you are, after saving my life. Now I see that you are just as I had heard: cruel and bad-tempered! I cannot believe that you are entirely selfish and self-centered because you did save me, but- damn you, I would hit you if my hands were not injured!"

At first he looked as angry as she felt. Then a slow change came over his face and his mouth twitched. He burst out laughing, something that he could not ever remember doing. The girl looked comical, really. Her hair was frizzy and curled wildly around her face, and her eyes were so wide…it was quite amusing.

Amelie's eyes widened as she wondered what she had said that had amused him so. He finally stopped laughing but a wry smile still remained on his lips.

"You women are all the same: petite little china dolls that need your handsome fops to support and care for your delicate selves with expensive taste. Never lifting a hand to do anything. Even if your hands were not injured you still would not-"

The smug, understanding, patronizing look on his face was too much for the rage and embarassment that was building up inside her – it had reached the zenith. Acting without any thought except to wipe the smug grin off his face, she pulled her hand back quickly and brought it down across his face with as much force as her sore limbs could muster.

- - -

For a moment neither of the two moved, paralyzed with the shock of what she had boldly done. Then the Phantom turned his face back to Amelie. When he spoke, it was in a tone that scared her more than his yelling had so far.

"You do realize that making me angry with you is not the best course of action, do you not? I feel that every day I spend down here in this hell makes me more the monster than the man, something that probably is not very beneficial to your health, mademoiselle."

He moved his had slightly so that his fingers brushed against her neck. Amelie shivered at the feeling of his touch and stepped back, but did not say anything about the improperness – she was the one who had hit him, after all.

"If I wanted to, I could wring your neck and no one would ever know – or kill you in whatever wasy pleases me most. I am a dangerous man, girl – I cannot control my temper any more than it appears you can."

There was a slightly maniac look in his eyes now that sent a shiver up Amelie's spine. She turned away from him, knowing that what he said was true and that he was quite capable of malicious deeds. She wondered why, even realizing this, she was still not scared for her life – even though every scrap of feeling in her body said that she should run away from him as fast as her crippled form could take her. She tried to compose herself, but did not even bother to try to organize the mess of her emotions.

"I know that you are right but there is nothing I can do about it. I know what you have done in the past..."

She turned to face him.

"I apologize for hitting you but not for what I have said – most of my words were at least marginally correct, as you yourself just agreed."

With a cry of frusteration, the Phantom stalked away from Amelie and sat at the piano, willing himself to control his anger and not to hit the girl in return – which in all likelihood would be fatal for her. The girl was annoying, why could he not just take her out of the operahouse and leave her to find her way home, to be alone again?

Amelie sighed when he did not turn around and went over to where some bits of the ripped paper and a quill were lying on the floor. Taking them to her mattress, she started to draw, sketching what was on her mind. Drawing had always helped her to relieve tension and occupy her thoughts.

The Phantom continued to argue mentally with himself_. I cannot let her leae because she will reveal that I am still alive, and still here in my operahouse. I will have only myself and my memories for companions – that is why I keep her here._

With not a little shock, he truly realized for the first time that he was lonely. He had never really thought about it before, but there it was. He had no one to talk to or argue with besides himself, no one to discuss his ideas and thoughts with. _And what will I do once she no longer needs me to help her become well – once she is healed?_

This thought made him turn and look at Amelie. More time must have passed during his musings than he had realized because she appeared to have fallen asleep. Her head was pillowed on the less-injured arm, knees drawn up to her stomach slightly.

He stepped over to her quietly and noticed several scraps of paper clutched in her now-inkstained fingers. The Phantom pulled them gently out of Amelie's hand, causing a frown to appear across her face, but she remained aslumber.

The first scrap held two sketches of the chandelier, at first hanging and then on the floor of the theater, lyring amidst dusty seats. He grudgingly admitted to himself that she was quite a talented artist, then looked at the next drawing.

It was the operahouse on the night he had unveiled _Don Juan_. Flames lept into the Parisian sky. From the doomed building. The detailed sketch reminded the Phantom yet again of all that had occurred that fateful night…_The tears I might have shed for your dark fate, grow cold and turn to tears of hate!_…_Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known?_

He ignored the flares of sadness and bitter anger that torched his insides and looked at the other piece of paper in his hand. The last scrap was by far the one which captured his attention most. Every single drawing on the paper had been scribbled out. Peering through the ink, he realized with some shock that Amelie had been sketching, or at least attempting to sketch…him. The drawings were too obscured to see very well, but then he noticed one of the notes the artist had written to herself in the corner of the paper:

_Refer to sketchbook; more detailed & accurate; needs more expression/characteristic._

So these quick etchings were not the first she had made of him! Thinking back, he remembered the navy blue books that Amelie and Jenny had brought with them to the operahouse. Burning with curiosity and many questions, he turned to beging searching for the hidden sketchbook.

He turned to look at Amelie, stopping in mid-movement. Asleep, she looked so similar to Christine despite the difference in hair color. So peaceful and yet full of temper…he turned away to continue looking for the book.

**- - - **

Please review with comments, questions, etc. I'd like to know what to do to make this better – and what my readers think. I'd also like suggestions and ideas for the next chapter!


	4. Chapter the Fourth

Dedication: To everyone who is still reading after I took so long writing this chapter

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Erik or anything/anyone related to or mentioned in The Phantom of the Opera, whether the musical, book, or play…obviously.

_Review Replies:_

Emma Noble: I'm glad you like my story so much, especially since you are a fellow fanfic-er yourself! Hope you like this newest (and long overdue) installation.

SuniMoon: Yes, I have read both the Gaston Leroux novel as well as many published continuations by various authors. And if you can't wait for me to use Erik's name, you're finally in luck during this chapter ;) Enjoy!

_Chapter the Fourth_

IN WHICH Paris is Explored and Looted AND A Name Inspires Much Thought and Revelation

Christine told Raoul that she was going to Paris to meet some old friends for a day of shopping and relaxation.

"Raoul, dear, I hardly ever see Meg at all anymore, and besides, it will give you a chance to spend some father-son time with Michel. You know how much he's been wanting a day with his papa."

Raoul looked up from his breakfast. All of a sudden, his appetite had mysteriously disappeared.

"Christine…why are you going to such lengths to try and convince me to let you go? Is there something, some reason which you have not cared to discuss…"

_No_, she thought, _do not think of Erik. Think that I am simply a silly woman looking for a day's amusement. _She placed her hand on his and caressed his fingers with own.

"Dearest, I have no secrets from you and I hope that you keep none from me. I shall stay away from that part of the city, if it would make you feel more secure." _God will forgive my lying_, she thought. Christine could see the relief covering her husband's face.

"Then, my wife, I agree wholeheartedly that this excursion will be just the thing you need to make you better reacquainted with you friends—and your pocketbook!" He rose from the table and kissed Christine softly on the lips before turning away. "Just…be careful, my dear."

_Oh poor naïve Raoul_, she thought as she watched her husband leave to find their son, _I have lied to you and kept so many secrets. I wish I could confide in you…but I pray that you need never find out what I have done—or what I am going to do._

**- - - **

A few days later, the Phantom's curiosity had been mostly replaced by annoyance, both at himself for not being able to find the damn sketchbook and at his guest for finding such a good hiding place. He had only been able to search for the book while the girl was asleep but it seemed to him that he had looked in every nook and cranny that his house contained, and it was utterly impossible that the sketchbook was anyplace else. If she had been drawing him in her spare time, it had to be hidden here below. There had to be one place that she would have thought he would never look…

And then it came to him: her dressing room. He had set up an area for her to primp and dress in a corner of the main room, behind a few Chinese dressing screens. The space contained one of his writing desks, many dresses and outfits that he had made for another woman of the same build, and the only mirror left in his world: a small rounded hand mirror with a handle and frame of pure silver, one of the many lavish presents he had received from the shah during his visit to Persia. He had hidden it away to keep himself from destroying it—for although the wounds of the incidents of five years previous were beginning to heal, he still could not abide mirrors.

The Phantom abandoned his thoughts somewhat gratefully and crept quietly over to the gap between two of the screens. Amelie rolled over and cooed softly in her sleep, causing him to glance at her quickly. He had only about an hour before she would wake—time was running short and he was determined once and for all to find the damned sketchbook on that morning. He stepped into the room.

He had, for the sake of her privacy, kept well away from the dressing room before then. Now, the room looked lived-in: the few cosmetics he had found God knew where were on the writing desk and the trunk full of clothes was in the corner, with a few dresses lying atop the open lid. And on almost every open space, on the screens and the desk, were pieces of paper graffitied with Amelie's artistry. So that was what all the time she spent behind the screens was for! The Phantom felt a slight tendril of annoyance writhe inside him. _Women._

He sat at the desk and opened the top drawer carefully and, finding only more scraps of paper, closed it and reached for the next drawer. He closed that drawer quickly, a slight blush spreading across his face. _Only a woman would keep undergarments in a writing desk._

When he opened the third drawer, he saw the navy blue cover and realized he had finally found the sketchbook. He took it and shut the drawer, making his way out from behind the screens to sit aside the piano. Touching the book softly with his fingertips, he reached to open the book and found himself unable to do so. _What are you so afraid of?_ He asked himself silently, and almost immediately he knew what it was that he feared: Amelie's fear. Her rejection. He was afraid just as he had been afraid when he had first sung Christine to sleep years ago, afraid that Amelie would think him a frightful monster, an aging nightmare.

Amelie stirred and stretched as she woke with a groan and the Phantom slid the book into the space inside the piano bench that traditionally housed sheet music. Amelie wandered into the dressing room and emerged half an hour later fully awake and groomed. The Phantom breathed an internal sigh of relief, due not only to the fact that she had not felt any artistic urge and therefore missed her sketchbook, and also because for the moment he did not have to face his fears.

"Good morning, monsieur. I trust you slept well?" She noticed that he was sitting on the cold stone floor next to the piano and the piano bench. "But why are you sitting on the floor?"

He stood and dusted himself off. "Must one have a reason for everything one does?"

As he walked away to busy himself and preparing breakfast, Amelie noted his coolly cordial tone and recalled with a mixture of guilt and annoyance their unresolved argument of the previous day.

"Are you…you are still upset from our…argument, then?"

He looked up from his task with hooded eyes. "One could assume so."

_And I had such good dreams_, she thought. _What a way to wake up._ She waited until he had forcefully set dishes of food before himself and her and had sat down before she decided to speak and try to make amends. Both of them had erred but if he would not be the gentleman, then she would just have to act the lady she had been raised as.

She set down her glass after taking a small sip of wine, looking at him until he felt her eyes on him and looked up from his meal. Amelie cleared her throat. "Monsieur, what I said yesterday, I cannot say that I did not mean to say what I did—because I meant to say it, I meant every word, and therefore I am not sorry."

His eyes darkened in rage but before he could say anything she held up her hand. "What I am sorry for is that I could not control my temper. Simply because I felt anger at what you said is no reason to act the way I did. I was childish and for that I _am_ sorry. I behaved appallingly."

He was still annoyed, she could tell. "And what? You want me to…forgive you?" he asked with contempt.

"I want to know that we are…friends again."

"Whoever said we were friends?" He stood to leave the table and she stood with him.

"I do. I am friend to you, whether the feeling is mutual or not."

After a moment's pause, he replied, "Of course it is." She smiled at his reply and held out her slim hand.

"Shall we shake on it, then? Friends, regardless?"

He hesitated. Very rarely, if ever, had he ever had need to shake hands. Gentlemen performed the greeting, not monsters such as he. Or was he? He slowly slipped his hand into hers. She shivered slightly when his cold skin met hers but smiled nonetheless. The Phantom held onto Amelie's warm hand for a moment, as long as he dared to, then pulled away.

The smile remained on Amelie's face as she began to pick up the dishes of food that neither had really touched but the look faded when she saw the tableau that some artisan had painted onto the plate she held. It was a family, mother and father standing beside son and daughter with their house behind them. The Phantom glanced over her shoulder and saw what she was studying with such feeling. He knew what was coming, and when she turned with the dish in her hand he wished he did not care about what she was going to say, or simply that it would remain unspoken.

"My family believes I am dead, monsieur. I have to set things right and let them know that their child still lives." She braced herself, afraid of his reaction. Surely he would not…force her to stay?

He sighed quietly and turned away as if he could not bear to look at her. "When…will you leave?"

"In a few days, perhaps a week, I should go. If you would like, I could…come and visit?"

He did not turn, simply stood with his back to her. "As you wish, mademoiselle."

Tears formed in her eyes. Here she was, talking of returning to her mother and father, when he had none—had never had anyone waiting for him. "Monsieur…"

"Mademoiselle Amelie, you have never truly seen Paris, have you?" _The world is at an end, but does it matter? Let me bottle myself up for a few days, let her enjoy her last days with me. I cannot survive all these feelings, so let me at least try to pretend they have gone—or better still, pretend that I never had them at all. _"Would you like to see Paris as I do?"

She studied him for a moment, surprised, then nodded. "Nothing would please me more."

He grabbed his cloak and handed her one, twirling his with an elegant flourish as it settled on his shoulders.

"How exactly do you do that, with your cloak?" Amelie asked as she fastened hers.

"Practice, my dear," he remarked as he swung one of the broken mirrors away from the wall to reveal a narrow, darkened stairway.

**- - -**

Amelie followed the Phantom up the stairway, trying to block out both the pangs of her injuries and the ever-increasing stench that seemed to be coming from the walls themselves. The Phantom seemed not to notice the smell and continued at the same pace, only stopping to make sure she had not fallen too far behind.

They reached an archway of sorts, with more a hatch than a door. The Phantom spun the handle with not a little force and the hatch creaked open. A wave of noxious air hit them, so that even the Phantom was inclined to put a gloved hand to his nose.

"Monsieur, what is that horrible smell?"

He stepped through the doorway into ankle-deep water with Amelie close behind. "The sewers, mademoiselle. Portal to almost every street in France, and the only way I travel now."

She coughed, eyes watering. "Well, I've no objection as long as we keep moving. How can you stand it?"

He shrugged nonchalantly as they continued their trek. "I suppose it is one of the many disagreeable things I must put up with." _Why is it that almost everything she says disarms the walls I have spent so long building?_

This silenced her, and the only sound was the echo of their footsteps in the water. Now and then, the Phantom would glance at the numbered plates beside the ladders the pair passed.

Just when the torch he was carrying first began to splutter, the Phantom stopped. "Our first destination, mademoiselle, is a theater. Have you visited any other than my home, that is, a functioning house of the performance arts?"

She took the torch as he began climbing the ladder next to where they stood. "I believe I might have visited one once long ago, as a child perhaps."

He reached the top of the ladder and she began her ascent, passing the torch up to the ledge where he crouched just under a manhole. She was almost to the top when her shoe slipped on a rung—and before she could even draw breath to scream he had caught her and hoisted her up to the ledge.

When she had calmed he did not open the manhole but turned to her with eyes intent. "Mademoiselle, before we enter the theater, I must extract a promise from you. Promise me that you will not attempt to run. I know you are eager to return home but I would prefer to make sure that you do not run into any unscrupulous men or worse, your friend Jenny. And…I have not spent time with another person for so long. Allow me to enjoy your company for the remainder of your time with me."

Her eyes widened slightly as she felt his embarrassment and awkwardness. "You have my word, monsieur. You know I am not in any condition to be running anywhere."

"Thank you." With a grunt, he pushed the manhole cover aside. Daylight flooded the sewers as the two emerged onto the street.

**- - - **

The day was spent in a whirlwind of novel sights and sounds. Amelie and the Phantom visited not only the theater but one of Paris's many art museums and other landmarks that were accessible via the underground network of tunnels. While aboveground, the Phantom and his guest kept to the shadows to avoid attention but several times were forced to flee when too much attention was paid to them.

As dusk began to creep across the sky, Amelie's rumbling stomach reminded her that they had not eaten since breakfast, a scant meal due to the tensions that had clouded the early morning. When the street performers they had been watching from behind a copse of trees began to scatter, along with the gathered crowd, Amelie thought it a good time to mention food.

"I'm rather hungry after this day of adventures. What do you suggest we placate our poor stomachs with?"

The Phantom made a quick scan of the area. "Well, mademoiselle, we are only a short walk from a vender and I feel that portable food is perhaps best considering the method of payment we are forced to use."

After spending a day without the restraints of tension or conflict, Amelie was not about to reprimand her guide's morality. Stealing food was a petty crime compared to other immoral acts, such as attempted murder, she contemplated darkly.

"I shall accept, monsieur, but only if you promise me one thing."

He eyed her warily, hints of the gap in understanding between them resurfacing. "That depends, mademoiselle, on what you would have me promise."

She smiled widely. "You must attempt to teach me your methods of, shall we say, procurement?"

He relaxed and the corners of his mouth turned upward in mirth. "How could one refuse such a polite request?"

They made their way to the corner where the vendor's cart was situated, silently walking through the shadows as if they too, were mere shadow. The Phantom pulled Amelie aside into a recess in the side of a building to talk her through her first crime. "Now usually I would go about this differently, having the ability to throw my voice but as I have you to assist me I believe I shall attempt something slightly different."

She thought for a moment then realized she could guess what plan he was talking about—one of the oldest tricks in the book. "Let me guess—I shall, say, pretend to hurt my ankle while walking across the street and the kind vendor will abandon his cart to assist a lady in need. You, meanwhile, will have attained our food while I shrug off any further assistance politely."

The Phantom blinked, surprised. "Precisely my thoughts, mademoiselle. Very astute of you."

She shrugged off his praise, embarrassed, and set the plan in motion. Their charade worked as perfectly as Amelie had described it—the unaware businessman perhaps too interested in the well being of a reasonably good-looking young lady. She refused his further offers of help and limped pointedly down the remaining length of the street, turning the nearest corner with a wave. The Phantom appeared as if from thin air, holding two paper-wrapped sandwiches and wearing a slight smile that was barely visible.

"Perhaps we should head back to the park for a while before returning underground? I do not often get a chance to savor the fresh air."

She agreed and took one of the sandwiches as they retraced their steps. The park was devoid of people, save a few questionable-looking women who scurried off when they saw the two approaching. They found a bench and sat to eat, enjoying the cool twilight breeze. Amelie could not help babbling between bites.

"This was one of the best days of my life, monsieur. I've never seen so many amazing things all at once! How lucky you are to be free to roam where you would, seeing the world as no one else does."

He turned to her from his meditations, a strange look upon his face. "You consider me lucky? Mademoiselle, my deepest wish for years was to be accepted into polite society as a gentleman, not to roam the night like the contemptible thing I am. My brand of luck would not appeal to many."

"No, monsieur, you misunderstand me." _It seems all we do is misinterpret the other_. She reached out without thinking and clasped his hand in both of hers, feeling an urgent need to explain to him, to make him understand what he did not see. He looked shocked at the contact but did not withdraw his hand.

"You have freedoms that most gentlemen cannot imagine. The people of high society, as doubtless you have seen during your time in the operahouse, live lives controlled by deceit. They must do as society bids, be molded into what other desire, while you have the means to do as you please and live according to no one."

He opened his mouth to speak but she silenced him, eager to release some of the emotions that she had until now not recognized within. "Wait—I have not finished. The gentlemen and ladies I know appear to be beautiful, refined people but for all their finery one cannot truly know them. They hide their flaws from the world…while you wear yours openly, not by choice but still as honestly as a true gentleman should. For that, I envy and respect you."

Barely breathing, she slowly reached up a trembling hand to his face, and tentatively brushed her fingertips against his unmarred cheek, soft as butterfly wings. Then her hand fell to her side as she waited, unsure of how he would react to such a presumption.

He froze at the first willing human contact he had had in five long years. He did not know what to do or what to feel, only that his heart was beating loudly in his ears and his skin burned icily where her delicate hand had touched his face. He did not want this again…he could recognize the feelings he had had long ago returning and dreaded what would result. He could not survive any more of life's seemingly unending miseries. So he did the only thing he could: the Phantom hid the feelings deep within, to rediscover later when Amelie had long left him and he was no longer in danger of opening another Pandora's box. By nature and circumstance he had been hardened against friendship and—he barely dared to conceive of it—love.

He let his gaze wander, focusing anywhere except on the girl sitting beside him, searching for words. "I-I thank you for your kind perception of me, Mademoiselle Amelie, but the hour is late and I feel it is time to return belowground."

The expression on her face wrenched his heart and he cursed his weakness. The Phantom watched her do much as he himself had done, steeling herself against injury—and at the same time, against other possibilities. She stood quietly and walked alongside him back to the sewers, where the trickling darkness excused the tense lack of conversation.

Upon reaching the operahouse, the silence remained palpable. They moved to the cloak rack and hung their garments without speaking. As she turned to walk away, the Phantom could not stop himself from reaching a hand out to Amelie's shoulder. She turned, eyes intent with unfathomable emotion. His arm dropped to his side as he opened his mouth to speak—to make some apology for his callous standoffishness.

"Mademoiselle, I am not only known as the Opera Ghost. I would have you know that my true name…is Erik."

"Erik…" The word sounded richly musical as she spoke it aloud, as if testing its use. "Thank you, Erik, for all you have done for me. You are…a true friend."

She smiled with a look of cautious warmth and regret. Feeling awkward and suddenly embarrassed, she practically fled to her area within the underground lair. After many moments, Erik turned to his own space, musing within his thoughts of the day he had spent with one of the few people who had ever cared for him—in some small way at least.

In her bed, Amelie lay staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep some minutes later and finally deciding to attempt to sort out the muddled feelings she had been keeping from the front of her mind.

Erik…a name that will not leave my thoughts! I am a fool—trusting a strange man who is a known lunatic! And yet, I do trust him. Despite the mask he wears, I cannot help but to think of his face—those piercing eyes that seem to see right through me…oh, be sensible! Nothing will come of this girlish fantasizing. Yet perhaps just for tonight, I can let myself think of him. If only I could know how he feels about me—no, I do not want to know. He is a man…hmm, a man…and I am only a silly fawning girl. He cannot possibly feel as I do…

Erik tossed restlessly then finally turned onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

Her hand on my face—so gentle and loving. No, I only imagined its lovingness. Amelie is a young lady who does not belong in my world, who will leave me forever soon , someday to marry a dandy of society who will make her happy. I am nothing to her yet when she touched me, I felt human again. Fool! She cannot possibly feel anything for such a monster. I will miss her deeply—what will I do once she has gone? There is truly nothing left for me here. It will be just as it was when Chr-Christine left.

His heart ached with pain that almost made him gasp aloud. He remembered the day, that hideous day, when all his foolish dreams had ended in so much fire and pain. Christine's eyes had been so full of pain…and she had—she had…

Erik's hand moved involuntarily to his lips. They felt numb with the thought of the long-ago kiss that he remembered so clearly, filled with despicable pity and resolute finality. A sudden thought blazed through his raw mind that sent chills through him:

A kiss from Amelie, one not of pity and remorse but of love and kindness…a kiss between a man and a woman, not a monster and his prisoner. Was it impossible or…

Hours later, Erik lay awake, still attempting to dismiss this new imagining. His mind's wanderings could be far crueler to him than reality could ever be. Before he lapsed into unconscious sleep, one thought remained forefront in his mind:

I will play for her…I will wake the music one last time. Before everything is over and I am left again with nothing, I will give her music.

**- - -**

Wow, an extra long chapter! It feels good to reexplore writing fanfiction after such a long absence. Please review with comments, questions, etc. I'd like to know what to do to make this better – and what my readers think.


	5. Chapter the Fifth

_Disclaimer:_ If I owned Erik/the Phantom, or The Phantom of the Opera, I would be Gaston Leroux or whoever…and I'm not. So I don't.

_Review Replies:_

None for this update, sorry  But a big thank you to everyone who has stuck with me, and for some crazy reason still has _Ulterior Emotions_ on Story Alert after two years of no updates!

_Chapter the Fifth_

IN WHICH The Music of the Night and Christine Both Return AND A Crisis Occurs

When she woke, it was to a melody so rich and haunting that she believed herself still asleep and dreaming. She listened to the steady rise and fall of song for several moments more before creeping into a dressing gown and out of her enclosure, not bothering to dress properly in her insatiable curiosity.

Peering around the corner, she saw the Opera Ghost—no, Erik—seated at the piano, his hands flying across the keys as if they were too smooth to grasp. He rocked back and forth as he played, as if the music and the act of its creation caused him pain that he struggled to control. The melody slowed and so did his fingers, caressing the keys as lovers with soft touches that seemed to evoke emotion without the need for words.

_This is his world…_she thought. _This is how he was, and can no longer be. _The gossip and rumors, the reports in the paper…they all fell away when she realized that all one could ever want to know about the man before her was contained in his music.

She could not approach him, only listen to the notes that made her feel as if she was an intruder in his private revelation, as if she had found his journal lying open, containing the writing of his soul, and had hungrily begun to read.

Softly, as if whispering a caress into her attentive ears, the song faded into the magic of the early morning. Even after the notes finished, he sat with his hands on the keys, a man and all that he had left. Amelie moved towards Erik quickly, chasing the last of the wonder before she could think better of it. The tilt of his head toward her showed that he was aware of her presence but the rest of his body remained immobile and facing away.

Amelie turned and bent so that she could see his face in its ever-present mask. Upon the unscarred cheek tracked a single tear, glistening in the dim candlelight. His breathing was unsteady, his eyes focused on faraway thoughts. At her light touch upon his shoulder, he looked up but their eyes did not meet.

He spoke in husky, thick tones. "It has been so long that I had thought myself unable to play. I-I did not realize how much I had missed my music…"

Amelie wrapped her robe tighter against a sudden chill, unsure of what to say in response to the brilliance she had just witnessed. "Monsieur, when I heard you play…it was as if everything beautiful in the world was in the music. In all my life, I have never heard…it was as if the music sang _for _you." She was so full of emotion that she could not continue. To be part of such a connection, such a mystical entwining of music and soul…

He smiled sadly when she praised him, and when their eyes did meet, it was she who averted her gaze. The look within his eyes spoke of the world, of its cruelties and pain—and the harshest reality of all.

"The music is a present to you, to say _adieu_."

She could not help the tears that gathered in her eyes. But instead of allowing herself to weep, she blinked the moisture away and sat beside him on the bench, past caring if it was improper for her to be so close to a man whose shirt hung open to display a broad chest beneath its frilled collar.

"Then I accept and thank you with all my heart. Do you have a duet which you could play, so that I could sing with you?"

Erik was surprised but attempted to hide it; the girl was amazing at keeping herself hidden behind the training of her station. He could not read her face, and turned to find a song among the pages lying atop the piano. He found one beneath a quarter-inch-thick cover of dust, unmoved for years. The song had so many memories stored within its notes: Madame Giry had played it for him on her gramophone, so very long ago when he had been younger even than Amelie.

And it was Amelie who now set the pages in the stand above the piano's keys. _How fitting_, he thought, _to play a song of farewell…_ his fingers trembled as he lowered them to the keys, and pressed. _Let this be the beginning of the end…_

"Hold on steady and strong, here's the dawn coming on won't be long," he sang quietly and painfully. He could not stop the tears that came to his eyes and realized that he no longer cared if he wept—or begged, or pleaded. Erik played the segue of his last farewell, and waited…

…and then she sang. Amelie's voice was not loud or perfectly pitched but held a quiet, intense power. It held the power to slave for years, working to achieve her desire. Her voice was the one of one who had know some sorrow for her years, who understood his pain though she did not know it. The voice of healing calm: "Oh it's easy to stand in the light with pain, in the light I will ever remain."

Erik's voice joined with hers, and the music soared to the arched ceilings and back. When he had sung to Christine, he had been desperate and obsessed. He still was, he realized, yet some of that desperation had been replaced. Erik felt whole, completed by the flowed between him and Amelie and the piano.

"Fare thee well, fare thee well and _adieu_, fare thee well. With this song I'll be gone, fare thee well." And then the music ended softly, and it was then that Erik knew that he no longer wanted to live, that he would never again be able to glue his broken self back together after this fresh loss, as he had tried to do before. But though he knew, he did not care: the music had been beautiful, and that was all that mattered.

With a boldness he had not known he still possessed, Erik took Amelie's hand in his and turned to meet her blue-eyed gaze. The noose coiled, waiting. It could wait a little longer. "Amelie, go. Forget everything you have seen. Forget this place—and forget me." The same words he had said before, to Christine, yet no less painful in their repetition.

Amelie pulled her hand from his to place both of her hands on his face, holding it as if she never wanted to let go. "I will always remember you. You saved my life. _Adieu_, Erik, my savior and…friend."

She wrapped a cloak about her still nightgown-clad form, not looking at the man to whom she owed her life. As she made her way slowly and carefully towards the surface and her future, Amelie could not hold back her grief.

**- - - **

Christine hurried into the opera house. Everything flooded back, her memories of the ballet and the dressing room and the excitement, as she thrust the boards on the doors aside and half-ran backstage. How different everything appeared, years older and covered in the dust of tragedy, flame, and neglect. Would he still be there, deep within the bowels of the theater—waiting for her to return?

She followed the same path to the cellars that she had taken so long ago, following the man who had called himself the Angel of Music. _Why am I doing this to myself?_ she thought. Why was she returning to a place of so much fear and dread, to see a man who had sought to capture and control her? She realized that she truly had no answer. It had been five years and she was no longer the same impressionable maid who would allow a man to so easily lead and seduce her. And yet perhaps she doubted her maturity and that was why her hands shook, sending torchlight to flicker in the dark tunnel corners.

Christine followed the maze, the memory of irrevocable emotion leading her feet where her mind was too lost in memories to take charge. Just when she believed herself lost, a light stronger than that of her torch flared around a corner and she spotted the lake, darkly glistening, and the boat. Shaking, she clambered aboard, praying it was still sound, and paddled as quietly as she could, towards where instinct told her nothing good could wait.

Now that she knew the location of the grated gate's switch, it posed no barrier but sent echoing creaks and the burble of frothing water throughout the spacious cavern. And suddenly the entirety of the room was open to her view…the place where she had fallen in love with one man, then fought for the life of another she loved, barely escaping with their lives. Never once had she allowed herself to regret her choice…the choice she had sealed with a kiss containing all she had ever felt for the one whose name she could still barely think, let alone speak aloud.

Something prompted her to look up—perhaps overwhelming emotion—and when she saw the noose that swung not three feet from her, she let out a shrill scream, instantly returning to the terror of her girlhood. It was a scream that broke off abruptly when the one she might have chosen stepped from the shadows, face unmasked and eyes burning in the dim light.

When he had been assured that Amelie, as he now felt free to call her in his thoughts, was well on her way back to the normalcy of the world above, he set to work on the process of ending his life. An extra-strong noose and high ledge from which to jump would be all that was needed, easily procured. His hands braided from murderous memory, and soon he was done.

Yet there was one last question to be answered, though the answer no longer really mattered now that he was alone again, for good. He took Amelie's sketchbook from the piano bench and sat underneath the noose, which swung ominously from where he had secured it. The inside cover held, in a childish script, the owner's name and address alongside the promise of a reward for the book's return. She had used the same sketchbook, according to the dates, for almost three years, and it was evident in the display of progressive skill. Watercolored scribbles of flowers and buildings faced portraits of severe-looking matrons, children at play, and even a few rough attempts at self-portraits.

It was later in the thick pages that true talent had revealed itself. These works were vividly detailed and intense in a way that revealed much patience and perceptive understanding. And when, suddenly, his own face appeared, he could not breathe and his hands gripped the book's edges with enough force to choke a man.

There was a full page spread dedicated to him. Amelie had drawn him deep in thought, adorned with a sardonic smile, looking to the ceiling…each time wearing his mask. Her drawings did not attempt to idealize him but simply portrayed Erik, the Phantom of the Opera, as he was. Several full-body portraits were featured as well—the details for his pose and dress probably snatched in momentary glances while his attention was otherwise occupied. In her art, he saw a tender blossom of love that might have one day bloomed, if…no, there were too many ifs, just as there had always been and always would be. He threw the book aside.

He had then ripped the hated mask off his face and cast it from him satisfied with the dull thud as it hit some far unseen object. And then, another series of thuds echoed from a passageway—but not from the direction in which Amelie had left.

Erik had crept into the shadows to wait for the intruder and, to his bitter shock, it had been Christine who rowed the boat to where he now stood, hellfire in his eyes and in his soul. "Even my wretched mind is not cruel enough to conjure your ghost again, so tell me Christine, _why are you here?_"

She could not speak, shock at his continue existence stopping her words. She finally managed to splutter, "I don't know," before she was again rendered silent.

"Come to taunt me on my deathbed? Did you travel all the way here from where your precious vicomte waits unknowing, simply to witness the final collapse of the man you wrapped around your will and then, when you tired of him, cast him aside like so much garbage, _Christine_?"

Erik found he could say her name effortlessly now that she stood before him, but a tremor ran through her body at its sound on his lips. "You're dying?"

He gestured upward with a wry smile. "I finally decided to do what God should have pitied me and done years ago."

She could not believe what she hearing. "I can't let you…Erik, I cannot let you kill yourself now because of what happened in the past! It's been five years—"

"Five years of endless loneliness of cold silence and darkness! You may have your foppish husband but I am left alone with only the memory of that kiss echoing inside my empty heart! I can't live this way, not again…no longer."

She was somewhat confused by the last part of what he said, but her heart was breaking with guilt. "I did this to you. And that's why I'm begging you to live. Let me help you, let me find you a place to stay…"

His reply was cold. "Why is it now, years after I could have already left this earth that you come to me with your pity and your charity?"

Christine could not meet his eyes as her own filled with tears. "Erik, Raoul and I have a son."

**- - - **

Amelie trudged up the dank corridor that led to the sewers and the world above with heavy steps. Never had her emotions been so torn: her family needed to know that their daughter lived…and yet in order to restore their happiness, she was leaving behind a man who had no one else. The hand he had so fervently grasped burned with the remembered sensation.

Amelie paused in her journey forward, for the first time truly allowing herself to examine her feelings for the Pha—for Erik. She cherished every look he had given her, every word he had said to her…and those few touches he had bestowed. She longed for the taste of his lips on hers—propriety thrown carelessly and wholeheartedly to the wind—and longed to know that when he looked at her, it was she that filled his heart. It was not rational, not proper, but what about love could ever be? Amelie wanted Erik and all that he was, flawed and fragile and faulted.

Her heart sang as she turned and rapidly walked, then ran, back towards the man she loved, her savior and friend. But when she heard a woman's scream, her joy and hope turned to fear and she quickened her pace and burst out from behind the tapestry to see a woman standing near Erik…both weeping as a noose held silent witness alone.

**- - - **

Amelie's entrance caused both Erik and Christine to stare up at her. None of them could speak at first, and Amelie was shocked to discover that, although she had never met the woman, she knew exactly who the dark-haired beauty was—the only person who could make the Phantom of the Opera weep as he did now, a forlorn man brought to his knees. With a start, she saw that Erik had removed his mask to reveal the shocking face he had so carefully hidden. It was grotesque in the utmost but instead of fear, she felt only pity for the man who had suffered so much for his fate of deformity. She turned back to the woman. "You're Christine Daae."

Christine was shocked—who was this fragile-looking girl with the intense eyes, and what was she doing here in one of the most dangerous places for a young, naïve girl to be? "Christine de Chagny now. Who are you, and what in the world are you _doing_ here?"

"Madame, I am Amelie Dubay. I am here because the man before you saved my life when I fell within the opera house. My best friend abandoned me to God's mercy but this man helped me regain my health."

"Erik _saved_ you? For what purpose, monsieur, to trap her here as you attempted to keep me?"

"No, he let me go! I came of my own free will. I came back because…because…"

"What she says is true." Erik had finally stood and recovered himself enough from Christine's news to witness the meeting of the two women. "I let her go. And now I would like to be left in peace to end this sham of a life!"

"No!" Amelie and Christine cried out in unison but he was past listening. Christine's news of a son, the child that could have been his, was too much for the man's much-abused, often unsteady sanity, and it collapsed into one focus: to end his misery as soon as possible.

Before either woman could blink, he had thrown them with a roar to land against the far wall. Each cried out in pain, before Christine receded into unconsciousness and Amelie felt the dull ache of reopened wounds. Erik grabbed the noose, and without further word or cry, hung himself.

Amelie fought against her pain and the threat of unconsciousness as she watched Erik's face turn deeper and deeper shades of purple. Finally she was able to stand and grab a sword that lay amid a charred pile of stage props. Righting the ladder he had kicked away, she cut down the now-unconscious Erik, who fell upon the floor with a cracking noise that signified broken bone.

Christine awoke seconds later with a gasp to see Amelie cradling Erik upon the floor, frantically sobbing and begging what could very well be his corpse to awaken. When she realized that Christine was awake and mobile, Amelie screamed at her, "Help me! Please, we must save him! Surely you know a doctor, anyone, who could help us, I'm begging you!"

Without further thought, Christine helped the girl to pick the Phantom of the Opera up and carry him quickly to the boat. While Christine rowed rapidly, Amelie continued to speak to the man cradled in her arms.

"Why did you come back after he let you go? When you know that he has killed, that he almost killed me and my husband, and that he could have killed you?"

Amelie looked up and said simply, "He saved me. I love him with all my heart, and that's why I could not stay away without knowing if he felt as I did. I could not leave him, madame, any more than I think that you could have stayed."

Suddenly, Erik gasped a wheezing breath and began to breathe again. Amelie smiled with a tremble. "Please, row as fast as you can. He still needs the doctor, but I think he's going to live."

**- - -**

_Author's Notes_

That's right – a NEW CHAPTER of Ulterior Emotions! I was seized by the desire to continue this story today, after two years of college prep and tons of homework once I actually got to college. I hope this new chapter has been good news to some, and that you readers will review and let me know what you think of the continuation of this story! Who knows when the next piece will arrive…but the summer is a-comin' 

BTW, the song lyrics are "Fare Thee Well" by Kate Rusby. Completely _not_ a period piece but a very beautiful song.

Cheers,

Katrina


	6. Chapter the Sixth

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Erik or anything/anyone related to or mentioned in The Phantom of the Opera, whether the musical, book, or play…obviously.

_Chapter the Sixth_

IN WHICH Feelings Long Kept Are Finally Revealed

The two women somehow managed to drag Erik out of the opera house, covering his face and bruised neck with Christine's shawl. Christine managed to hail her driver and they set about bundling him into the back seat while she ordered him to speed back to the de Chagny estate, and gave him a list of tasks to accomplish once they arrived, which included summoning the family's doctor by swift horseman.

She now sat as far away from Erik, who lay half leaning against Amelie, as she could in the car's crowded backseat. "My husband will be less than pleased that I'm bringing a murderer who almost killed _him_ to our home. And considering Erik's reaction to the news of my son's existence, I…this man has nothing left to live for, that much is clear. And I cannot have his death through my indifference on my conscious, no matter who he may be. I will place you in the guesthouse – the servants will be able to bring anything you need, Michel and Raoul will never have to see him, and you will have a room in which to stay. I will have to tell my husband, there is nothing for it, but I will do my best to keep him away."

Amelie studied the noblewoman in what was now the light of early evening. "Madame de Chagny, I am more than grateful for your help. I do not mean to pry, but there was once a connection between you and Erik. I know that he still feels its effects deeply, and although you have married, I must ask..."

Christine cut her off with a raised hand. "Mademoiselle, I know why you returned to see Erik. I could see the pain in your eyes when he tried to end his life of misery and I know that pain because I have felt it myself, when this very man attempted to kill my husband, and I truly thought I would lose Raoul. I know that you love him."

She smiled sadly at the young woman before her, so determined and heartbroken. She followed her heart, the way Christine once had, but there was something different in her eyes that Christine knew she herself had never possessed in any great quantity. It was a mixture of stubborn resolve, loyalty, and so many other things.

What she did not know, and neither did the young grey-eyed woman before her, was if Erik truly felt the same – if he could possibly forget Christine and embrace the love that was being offered to him with so many fragile hopes. And no matter what her husband did or said, Christine was determined that somehow, Amelie would be given the chance to find out.

**- - - **

The guesthouse was more of a small mansion to Amelie's eyes. She was given her own suite, far from Erik's quarters, complete with a full bath and dressing room. Christine met with the servants, explaining that the house's outside doors were to be kept locked at all times, but that a servant would always be posted near Amelie's door – and all the servants were paid to maintain secrecy. Christine had them fetch some clothes and supplies for Amelie.

"The doctor will see to Erik, but I would prefer you refrain from visiting him for a few days. He may be a bit…dangerous, as well as foul-tempered, until he is well again and has some time to settle down again."

Amelie nodded and curtsied in her borrowed clothes as Christine exited quietly. She moved to the window to study the impending twilight. Being locked in with a man deranged with heartbreak will not be awful, she thought. At least I shall be able to work on my sketches.

A servant deposited a tray laden with a feast the likes of which she saw at home only on holidays upon her private parlor's table. The meal brought to her mind another meal, the one at which she had spoken to Erik of her envy of his freedom…and the memory of her fingertips brazenly touching his face was not far behind.

She cursed herself for a fool. The man she was so suddenly in love with was a killer, some might even say a murderer, driven mad by loneliness and hate. Yet Amelie had been changed by her brush with death – had sobered and matured. She knew that he was scarred by nature and years of cruel treatment, even at the hand of the kind woman who had offered her house and help to him. So much had been denied him, and that was why Amelie could not walk away from Erik…she had to know if there was any way that he could see beyond the scars of the past – if he was something more than dangerous and tormented.

When she slept, Amelie dreamed of a quiet song, played by a man shrouded in mist, and of tarnished golden angels.

**- - -**

The doctor was efficient and promised his silence, helped by a heavy bribe. He confirmed that Erik had sustained no permanent damage, only a bruised larynx and several ruptured blood vessels. Bed rest promised to heal him quickly. Christine saw the doctor out and spent the rest of the night cradling Michel in the nursery. The servants reported that Raoul had decided to visit a friend with new horses and would return in the morning. She did not worry over his absence, instead concentrating on how to prevent Raoul from calling the authorities to arrest and kill Erik.

She woke early and checked in on her son before seeking out her husband. He was seated in the drawing room in his favorite chair, perusing the paper, when she approached him timidly.

"Raoul, I have something to tell you, but you must promise you will not move from that chair until I finish speaking."

He instantly lowered the paper. "What ever is the matter, darling? Did something happen yesterday while you were out?"

She forced herself to meet his eyes. "Raoul…yesterday I went to the opera house. He was there, I saw him."

Raoul leapt from the chair but she held out a hand, and he fell silent, though rage and concern occupied his face.

"There was a girl there, one whom he saved from a terrible accident – an accident not of his doing. I was a fool and told him…" She could barely speak the words to him. "…I told him that we have a son. And…"

She had to physically block the door to keep him from storming out. "Raoul, wait! Michel is fine, he's in the nursery! Nothing has happened to him – please, just sit down and listen!"

Raoul backed away, still wary, but listened to his wife. "When I told him…Raoul, he tried to kill himself. This girl, she begged me to help him. I could tell, just looking into her eyes, that she loves him. And so I agreed to save him.

"WHAT?! Christine, you should have let him rot in that hell he inhabits! How could you, you…" He grabbed her arms and pushed her against the wall. Tears spilled from her eyes but she could not keep the truth in.

"That same look in her eyes, it was the one I recognized in your eyes, one which said she would have done anything to have him safe – you had that look in your eyes, once."

"Yes, because _this same man_ was trying to kill me and imprison you!" A sudden though dawned on him. "Christine…he's not_ here_?"

"I placed him and the girl in the guesthouse and locked them in. He won't harm anyone, Raoul, except perhaps himself."

The last time she had seen such horror and furious repulsion on her husband's face had been a night she wished so very much to forget. Yet again he tried to leave but she blocked his way.

"Raoul, he's changed. That this girl would go so far for him tells me that he is no longer the man that we feared. I risked a life of misery and darkness to save you, and I would do it again. And I know this girl would do the same for him, and that is why I helped him."

His eyes searched hers before he embraced her so tightly she could barely breathe. "I love you and Michel more than my own life, Christine. More importantly, I trust you. He is not to see our son, nor enter our home…yet I will allow him to remain, for the girl's sake and yours. But I beg of you, keep no more secrets from me."

Christine knew he was still furious, and justly so. She laid a tender kiss on his mouth and felt it returned, and forgot her cares for a moment, satisfied that Raoul would allow Erik to remain undetected by the authorities, at least for a time.

**- - -**

For four days, Amelie felt her reinjured wounds heal as she paced the halls of the guesthouse, often stopping before Erik's suite but obeying Christine's instructions to leave him to rest. She sketched the grounds visible from the picture window of the house's main, largest parlor and tried to read, but she could only concentrate on thoughts of Erik. She was nervous, not only for his mental and physical condition but in light of her tremulous feelings for him. She loved him, she knew it in her whole being, that she could not forget such a man though she might live a hundred years…and the thought of never seeing him again, of his rejection, filled her with dread. She loved him, and the uncertainty was driving her mad.

It was on the fifth day that Christine, who had discovered much about Amelie in long afternoon talks with the girl (although Raoul objected heartily to Christine's time spent so close to Erik), finally allowed her to see Erik. Christine walked her to the door of the man's suite and pressed Amelie's hand tightly in her own. "You'll be quite alone, I've dismissed the servants to the entrance wing. If you need assistance, ring for them."

Amelie smiled. "I don't believe I'll need a chaperone, but thank you. I honestly believe my parents were more worried about me wandering alone in the company of a single man than about my nearly dying. I was lucky I managed to keep them away with that ridiculous story in my letter."

Christine's smile faded to a wistful sadness. "I stood where you are, once, at the edge of that bridge – but my ties to another world pulled me back. I was not strong enough to give what was needed. Do not mistake me, I am wholly happy with my choice, but…" She bit her lip. "I always wished that I had not had to find my happiness by forever destroying his. I hope you will be able to bring him back…I pray you will. I saw how his eyes lit up when you appeared. You may be the one who shall save him, if he can be saved."

After Christine turned and left, Amelie knocked as gently as she dared before opening the door and slipping inside the room, uncharacteristically timid. Erik was lying amid downy, luxurious bedding, bare to the chest. The left half of his face was covered not by his mask but by a wrapping of bandages. The marks on his neck looked swollen and sore still, and one of his eyes was tremendously bloodshot.

"My goodness, you look a fright." Amelie clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified at herself. For a moment, Erik was frozen in shock, then a humorless grin appeared on his face.

"You've seen the horror that is my face and were unaffected, but add a few bruises and I'm terrifying?"

She pulled a chair as close to the bed as she dared and sat, nervously smoothing her skirts. The fire ever-present in his eyes burned like dull coals but still seared her to the core. It seethed with anger when she did not answer and he leapt up stiffly to stand at the foot of his bed, hands clenched into fists. "Perhaps it is good that I kept these bandages on, that hid my face from the doctor, so that you might be spare the sight which so disgusts you," he spat.

Before she could think, Amelie stood and reached a hand out as if to touch him but stopped. "Please, Erik, I was so worried about you! I thought you were going to die in my arms." The sob in her voice surprised him; he opened his mouth to speak but she spoke before he could unleash cruel, incensed words. She had to make him understand how she felt, consequences, propriety, and all be damned.

"I know you've been hurt so very much. I know that Christine chose the vicompte over you, and I know that wound will never, ever heal. But that you could ever think that your life, wretched as it is, could be worth destroying…I've seen the beauty of your gifts of architecture and music, I know there is something great in you - and that you could even for a _moment_ ignore that is the greatest tragedy of all. I don't _care_ what you look like, damn it, I…"

Her tears flowed too freely for her hands to keep them wiped away. Erik was silent in utter and complete shock, having been subjected to the most profound berating of his life. He reached mechanically to offer her a handkerchief but it was slapped out of his hand to the floor as her tears became livid.

"I don't need a hankie! I nearly _died_ a month ago and then you have to go and injure me again, and, and I'm completely in love with you and you don't even know and…" She paled as the realization of what she had said dawned on the pair of them. Before he could utter a word, she pushed him away and fled through the door, slamming it behind her.

When the shock that had frozen him to the spot faded, Erik hastily and carelessly pulled on a shirt before following Amelie out of the door. His heart pounded dangerously in his chest at the words which Amelie had uttered, which had never before in his long life been said to him – which he had waited a lonely lifetime to hear.

He found her flung across a chaise lounge in the large parlor, sobbing wretchedly. Careless of his weakness or her barely re-healed injuries, he crossed the room, and, jerking her over to face him, asked in a voice hoarse with emotion, "Amelie, I did not intend to upset you. Never before has anyone told me that…" He swallowed thickly, and said, in an intent voice, "…that I am loved. I am sorry if I did not think that you meant…I don't know what I was thinking, I…"

Her tears ceased to flow as she ignored the painful grip on her arms. The fire in his eyes roared and she could see his chest heave with every breath. This man, who had been abandoned at every turn, stood desperate and broken, not daring to believe that the love which had been thrown in mockery in his face in the past was now being offered to him with open arms and a hopeful heart, after such a long time in darkness and sadness. Pity, and something vastly greater, welled up in her.

"I-I meant…" She freed herself from his arms and, before he could react, tore the bandage from his face. His anger returned, but before he could react, she reached upwards with a hand, pulled him closer, and laid a gentle kiss on the ruined side of his face.

Time seemed to stop within the vast room as she pulled away and their eyes met, his absolutely and completely dumbfounded, hers burning with an intensity that almost matched that found perpetually in his gaze. More unsure of himself than he had ever been in his life, he lowered his face to hers, fear and panic surging through him in a wave. Only once in his life had he been kissed, and never before had he so wanted to bestow one – and when he hesitated a fraction away from achingly desired contact, he could not help but think that any moment, Amelie would turn away and flee. Never had he been so close, and still he dreaded the inevitable, until suddenly his body moved of its own volition and their lips met in a searing kiss.

Amelie had been kissed before, but never like this. Where experience was lacking, instinct supplied much – it seemed that Erik's passion, so well-displayed in music and architecture, extended to love as well. The beautiful ache of desire, so suppressed by the propriety of society and its lessons, was uncloaked by the tentative, equally yearning kiss that Erik barely dared to give. She pulled him closer, conscious of his body so close to hers, separated by mere layers of fabric. Her hands slid to press against his chest and slid up to cradle his face, instinctually careful of his bruises. Her whole frame shifted so that she sat against the arm of the chaise lounge as their kiss deepened, their lips parting only for an instant before meeting again.

One of Erik's hands left her arms to cup her face before running through her hair, sending pins flying and shivers down her spine. His lips left her to press gently against the side of her face, then her throat, making her gasp. She wanted…she wanted him in a way she had never before wanted anyone, a wholly new feeling that his kisses were burning through her. She grasped his face and pulled his mouth back to hers.

When the contact finally broke as they each panted for breath, his face stayed close to hers. The fire that filled his eyes melted her entire body into trembling of sheer longing as he studied her flushed face.

He kissed her again, almost chastely this time, before pulling her to sit up beside him. Yet he continued to clasp her hands in his as he spoke. "No one has ever…Even when I pleaded with the silent heavens to send me some glimpse of even the faintest hope…and yet, _you_. You say you love me, and I look in your eyes and see that you do. Despite who I am, and what I've done, you _love _me. I do not deserve…all I can offer in return is my love, worthless as it is. But I give it to you, all of it."

He lowered his eyes until she removed one hand from his grasp and tilted his face back up to hers. "I know you have done many things for which you should probably not be forgiven. But once and for all…" Joy surged though her – _he loved her_. She could not keep herself from blurting out, "…if you do not stop hating yourself this instant, I'll never kiss you again, much as I love you."

She burst into laughter at the look on his face as she fell to lean against him, hugging him close. "I'm so…so happy. I can't help it, I'm all out of sorts. I barely survive death after a so-called _friend_, that wretched Jenny, leaves me to fend for myself. Then you save me, someone feared by all of Paris as a deranged killer, and happen to decide to save me. You turn out to be the best man I've ever met, and then you almost kill yourself because of my stupid ignorance, among other things. I barely manage to convince the woman who is the source of your unhappiness, at least most of it, to help me save you…and you _love _me."

When her laughter stopped and only a smile remained to flicker across her lips, she pulled back to look at Erik. He looked utterly bewildered but absolutely enthralled, somehow changed from the man who would have leapt up with bitter words and resentment at her jovial words at such a truly life-changing moment.

"I see. You love me because no one else would have such an absolutely daft girl such as yourself."

She kissed him again before replying, serious now. "What I am saying, Erik, is that I don't want anyone else. The world can keep the rest, because all I want is _you._ Just as you are." His heart leapt as her grey eyes met his, so full of love that he could not stand the small distance that divided them.

Once again he pressed his lips to hers, savoring the touch he had so long desired, which left him longing for more. They might have stayed there in the parlor, basking in the wonder of newly discovered love, had not a knock sounded at the door.

They froze and broke apart, each blushing madly. She helped him replace the bandage over his face before clearing her throat, saying as evenly as possible, "Please come in."

Christine entered. "I trust you're feeling better, Erik? And that everything has been…resolved?"

Amelie could not help the crimson which flooded her face even more. "Your face, _mademoiselle_, is answer enough." A look of wistful sadness crossed Christine's features briefly. "I'm glad that Erik has found someone who could give him all that I could not."

Erik's reply was slow and cold. "I will never forgive you, Christine. You toyed with me, and broke my heart. For that I will hate you until my dying day."

She paled at his harsh words but her face was resigned. "I deserve that, and more. Yet I can see that you and Mademoiselle Amelie.."

Erik actually stood to move behind Amelie and place a hand on her shoulder, almost protectively. "I saved her, and she saved me. I am not longer so violent, Christine – I seek no more vengeance for the past. I would prefer to leave as much of it as I can buried in the shadows, where it belongs."

Pregnant silence followed his declaration, which was broken by Christine. "I came to tell you something. Amelie, your parents have decided they cannot wait any longer to see you returned home…they are coming tomorrow to accompany you home."

**- - -**

_Author's Notes_

Might I just add that this is my absolute favorite chapter so far? And it might have been the end, but there are many loose ends to be tied up ;) I think a few more chapters are in order, no? But I would otherwise be quite happy to leave Amelie and Erik basking in their newly realized love…and yes, Erik has had a real change of heart, so don't get all afraid for Raoul or the kid, LOL. He has what he wants, and I'm pretty sure Amelie would yell at him if he tried to return to his violent self. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it – stay tuned to see what comes next: Amelie's parents are indeed coming to pick up their long-absent daughter, and she has some 'splaining to do about her new hubby. Please please pleaaaaseee review!

Cheers,

Katrina


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